


Carry Her Home

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-08 12:57:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11082057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: The Doctor refuses to let Clara Oswald die alone. After everything she has done for him, it's the very least he can do.





	Carry Her Home

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in a folder for eighteen months... written right after FTR and one of the first fics I did of these two.

He knew what Clara had asked of him, but somehow he couldn’t quite help himself from following her. He didn’t want her to be alone, that much he knew, and so he shadowed her as she moved out onto the street, resting in the doorframe as the tattoo on her neck finally reached zero. He wanted to call out to her, wanted to reassure her that he was there, but he knew that she would only chide him, determined as she was to present this brave front to all who bore witness to her final moments, and so he remained silent. He didn’t trust himself to speak, but Clara spoke for both of them, the words soft but still enough to reach him as he watched her steel herself for her own death. 

_“Let me be brave… let me be brave…”_

Her words were intended to be strong, but he caught the tremor in her voice that betrayed her fear. She _was_ brave. He wanted to tell her that, and he realised he should have told her that more often, but it was too late for them both and so he let her have this final moment. More than anything, he wished there was something he could do, some action he could take, but instead he was frozen in place, unable even to breathe as he watched the raven ruffle its feathers and take flight, never faltering and never hesitating as it bore down upon his companion with a damning finality. Clara raised her arms, her eyes wet but defiant, and as the Shade entered her chest, he inhaled as sharply as she did, wishing that it could be him suffering instead of her, wishing he could take away her pain. 

She was in agony, that much he knew, as her eyes closed and her mouth opened in that terrible scream. He would never forget her scream of sorrow, the pain and fear in her voice penetrating deep into his soul and tainting his otherwise warm, fond memories of her for eternity. His brain tried to offer clinical facts, but he rejected them, knowing only in that moment that Clara would be in terrible pain, and that his moniker had failed him – a Doctor who couldn’t cure her, a Doctor who only shortened the prognosis of those around him, and was condemned to watch everyone he loved die.

She took a breath and his heart leapt momentarily, irrationally, hopelessly, until he saw the black tendrils of smoke twist from her mouth and understood that it was done, it was over, and although she no longer suffered, she no longer breathed and no longer lived. She would never smile at him again, never chide him on his unfeeling manner or offer hope to those in need again. She fell to her knees on the black cobbles, and that was enough to unfreeze him, enough to spur him into motion as she fell backwards onto the ground. 

He knelt beside her body, a half-smile still etched on her face, a single tear still glistening on the curve of her cheek, and he took her hand, the last vestiges of warmth lingering in the whorls of her palm. He held it reverently, softly, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand, taking in the bitten nails and the worn silver rings, wanting her to squeeze back, needing nothing more than one more moment, one more second, to let her know she wasn’t alone. “I was here,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And you were so brave, Clara.”

He couldn’t manage any more, and so he kissed the back of her hand again and laid it upon her chest, scooping her into his arms and lifting her as easily as he would a child, her head resting upon his shoulder in an achingly familiar way that broke both his hearts. He had carried her like this before, but that had been different – her breath soft against his throat, her eyelids fluttering, and her soul full of vibrancy. And now that was gone. She was gone, and nothing else mattered to him, because there was no hope left. His Impossible Girl was gone, and he had been unable to save her, even after her sacrifices for him. And now… well, now she had made the final sacrifice. The ultimate one; the one that no one came back from. 

As he carried her through the doorway, he shunned the gaze of those inside, focusing instead on Clara; on laying her tenderly upon the bed and on smoothing her hair down, his hand brushing her forehead gently, and he was shaking so hard that he was almost glad she could not see him, though her teasing would have been welcome. Her eyes were closed, and selfishly he wished for them to open once more, although he knew the warmth of those hazel depths would never desert him. He cupped her cheek then, the warmth beginning to ebb, and ran his thumb tenderly over her eyelids, feeling the feather-softness of her eyelashes, dislodging a single, lingering tear, and he wiped it away with the utmost care, leaning down to kiss her forehead. 

Straightening up, he took in the sight of her once more, adjusting her hair so that it fell a little less severely, moving her hands from her chest, so that he could almost tell himself she was asleep. “My Clara,” was all he could manage, to eulogise her, but it seemed enough, and he closed his eyes for a moment, bowing his head, letting a single tear fall and splash onto the pale grey of her jumper. “My Clara.” He repeated, wiping his eyes on his handkerchief, and knowing it was time to face whatever was coming. He tried to tell himself that now she was at peace, with Danny, with her mother, but he still felt the selfish insistence of grief, the illogical demand that she return to him, the unwillingness to face the loss of her from his life. 

Taking a deep breath, he left the room without looking back. 

 _Let me be brave,_ he told himself.

_Let me be even half as brave as her._


End file.
